


ghost crossing

by quidhitch



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Multi, dex is the new team dad and the tadpoles are his children, dont fight me on this, takes place their senior year at samwell, this is a halloween-y road trip thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8437039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quidhitch/pseuds/quidhitch
Summary: “I’m not going to be the stupid horror movie white kid who fucks with ghosts,” Dex declares in no uncertain terms, giving Tango an extremely judgmental look over his mug of still steaming hot cocoa. He’s sitting on the couch crisscross applesauce, a fuzzy throw draped across his lap which is kind of a stretch seeing that Nursey has appropriated half of it. Since they’re covered by the blanket, Nursey thinks it’s okay to periodically run his hand up the inside of Dex’s thigh and make him choke every few minutes. Dex kind of hates him.“I’m not going if Dex isn’t going,” Chowder pipes up, flashing Whiskey an apologetic smile. “Yeah,” says Nursey, his thumb rubbing small circles at Dex’s hip. Dex turns to glare at him and Nursey offers a lazy, stupidly charming smile, “me either.”





	

“I’m not going to be the stupid horror movie white kid who fucks with ghosts,” Dex declares in no uncertain terms, giving Tango an extremely judgmental look over his mug of still steaming hot cocoa.

He’s sitting on the couch crisscross applesauce, a fuzzy throw draped across his lap which is kind of a stretch seeing that Nursey has appropriated half of it. Since they’re covered by the blanket, Nursey thinks it’s okay to periodically run his hand up the inside of Dex’s thigh and make him choke every few minutes. Dex kind of hates him.

“I’m not going if Dex isn’t going,” Chowder pipes up, flashing Whiskey an apologetic smile.

“Yeah,” says Nursey, his thumb rubbing small circles at Dex’s hip. Dex turns to glare at him and Nursey offers a lazy, stupidly charming smile, “me either.”

Dex flushes and coughs awkwardly, which earns him a quick look from Chowder. Oh boy.

He thinks maybe Chowder knows, that he and Nursey are…whatever he and Nursey are. He’s always looking at them with a quizzical expression on his face, like a really cute puppy confused by its own reflection. It would’ve thrown him into straight up crisis mode three weeks ago, especially since Chowder knows his parents so well, but he’s surprised to find it’s relief that spreads quick in his chest. At least he can feel a little less guilty about lying all the time.

So Chowder knows. But Tango and Whiskey? Oblivious as ever.

Tango’s scowl is reminiscent of a four-year old’s and he directs it at Dex, as if it’s somehow _his_ fault their idiotic outing isn’t working out. “Come on, Dex, you’re the only one who has a car. It’s too far by bus and too pricey by Uber.”

“They also need you to protect them from the ghosties,” Nursey feigns shifting around, but Dex knows it’s a ploy to say the words right against the shell of his ear and he… still kind of hates him. And wants to be done with this conversation, so they can go upstairs 10 minutes apart and make out on Nursey’s bed.

“My answer is no, guys,” Dex says for the millionth time, rubbing a hand over his face. Is this how Jack felt dealing with them two years ago? “In fact, if any of you get murdered, I can assure you I will be taking zero measures to avenge you.”

“Not cool, man,” Whiskey says, giving a still pouting Tango a conciliatory pat on the hand, “dude’s been looking forward to this for weeks.”

“I would like to celebrate Halloween with something other than binge drinking,” Tango says, Whiskey’s comment seemingly invigorating him.

“Shouldn’t you be supporting that? As, like, his mentor?” Whiskey asks.

Dex glares at him. “I did not agree to be anyone’s mentor,” he says, but he can already feel himself losing control of this conversation. It’s Nursey’s fault. How is he supposed to focus on being stubborn when Nursey’s warm, soft palm is pressed up against Dex’s back, making him feel boneless and pliant.

“You can stay in the car,” Whiskey offers.

“I’ll do your laundry for a month,” Tango clasps his hands together like the pathetic supernatural loving freak he is.

Dex can feel his resolve start to break down.

“Not on Halloween night,” he says finally, and Whiskey lets out a short victory whoop. Nursey is laughing off to his right and Dex really wants to punch him. “Rans will kill me if I miss a kegster. And you owe me for gas. And you’re providing on the road snacks. And if I get murdered by spirits, I’m revoking your dibs in the afterlife.”

“Such a pushover,” Nursey says under his breath, his corresponding grin so bright it almost hurts Dex to look at him. He wants to say something like ‘you’re beautiful’ or ‘I really like you’ but…well. He sticks his hand under the blanket and pinches Nursey’s ass instead.

-

Nursey buys Dex a cup of coffee from Annies for the road. He looks so good just then, milling around Dex’s car in soft green sweater that’s just a little big on him and a pair of yoga pants that are the precise opposite, one of his expensive-looking beanies tugged over his ears.

“You should change into jeans,” Dex mutters, taking a quick look around the parking lot before setting his coffee on top of the car and pushing Nursey up against the passenger door.

“Why?” Nursey asks, his hands sliding into Dex’s back pockets, “am I going to distract you from the road?”

 _Yes._ “It’s cold. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Because then we can’t kiiiiiiiss?”

Dex rolls his eyes, unbearably fond as he kisses Nursey’s forehead. He really looks… so good. Dex loves him relaxed like this – not that contrived quote unquote chill that he puts too much effort into maintaining to be authentic, but actually relaxed. Like he looks fluttering his eyes open first thing in the morning, or watching Dex bake a poor imitation of one of Bitty’s pies for the team on a lazy Sunday.

“It’s sweet of you to do this for Tango,” Nursey looks marginally more amused than affectionate, and Dex presses their foreheads together and groans.

“I really hate him.”

“Like you hated me?”

“Hm,” Dex pushes his hips flush against Nursey’s and hovers over his mouth, noses just barely brushing, “I think that’s a little different.”

-

“Hey, Tango,” Nursey says, and Dex knows it’s going to be something annoying from the smug tone of his voice alone. He shoots Nursey a glare over the console.

“Why don’t you tell us the story behind the Mausoleum again.”

It takes everything Dex has not to let a 10 year, long-suffering groan. Tango had told them the story at breakfast that morning, elaborated while they stopped for gas midway through the drive, and finished reading the thing’s Wikipedia page out loud not 20 minutes ago. If there was one thing Dex needed, it was not to hear the damn story again.

And yet…

“You guys are probably getting tired of the story,” Tango starts, he sounds a little sheepish and it makes Dex feel slightly bad for his lack of enthusiasm. Slightly. “But the architectural significance is actually really cool…”

He’s off again. Nursey is shooting him a very amused look out of the corner of his eye. Earlier, when Chowder had taken over driving and they had been pressed together in the back seat, Nursey had whispered some vague but extremely dirty poetry into Dex’s ear and he’d rocked a splotchy blush for a full ten minutes.

“Jesus,” Dex had said under his breath, shying away from Chowder’s questioning look in the rearview mirror. “Who is that even by?”

“Catullus,” Nursey had replied, the look in his eyes dark and curious and self-satisfed all at once. Dex hadn’t known who that was. He made a mental note to Chrome Incognito later.

He takes his eyes off Nursey now, vaguely aware he missed the entire middle part of Tango’s story. It’s probably fine, he’ll catch it the next round.

“…and so if you sit around one of the chairs at the table, the ghosts of Kissington’s family are supposed to push you off!”

“Sounds spooky,” Chowder smiles, but he’s buried in his phone, probably opening a Snapchat from Cait, a Facebook message from Cait, a text from Cait, or a media barrage combination. Dex rolls his eyes, even as Nursey opens Snapchat and he sees the number sixty-four by his handle.

“Very spooky,” Nursey agrees, holding his phone horizontal, “also, Bitty wants a Selfie. Everyone smile!”

Dex grimaces and looks steadfastly at the road. His GPS informs him he has thirty minutes left until they reach afterglow drive. Nursey plugs his phone into the aux and blasts their sex playlist, and it feels like ninety.

-

When they finally pull up into the Mausoleum driveway, Whiskey has had to go to the bathroom for the past 10 minutes, Chowder is running dangerously low on phone battery, and Nursey has given him so many _looks_ from the corner of his eye that Dex has completely lost count. He’s glad to finally be able to yank his key out of the ignition and get mercifully murdered by a ghost.

“Thank you for driving us, Dex,” Tango says, as Whiskey frantically throws open the car door and bolts into thick shrubbery, “you’re objectively the best defenseman Samwell has had in the history of ever.”

Grinning at Nursey’s offended tut, Dex shakes his head and waves Tango off, telling him they didn’t drive for three hours so to chat in the car while Whiskey relieved himself in the woods. Tango’s up and out of his seat in seconds, and it’s just Nursey, Dex, and Chowder left under the low glow of the car lights. Nursey’s looks have turned into a prolonged, smoldering stare. Chowder excuses himself to call Farmer. Nursey’s fingers are tangled between his in seconds.

“They adore you, you know that?” he asks, and Dex knows he’s not trying to bat his ridiculously long eyelashes, but that’s still what it looks like when time feels all slowed down like this.

“It’s annoying.”

“You love it.”

“It’s inconvenient,” Dex protests, “we’ve wasted an entire day of the weekend on the road.” He looks at Nursey, eyes softening. “We could’ve gone out instead. Just the two of us.” Though he really does like Tango, this was something that gave him pause. Seniors in college didn’t have a lot of time to get together or do silly, romantic things for each other, Dex hated that he and Nursey were reduced to passing kisses between classes and 11 PM dates at the Sonic drive thru. It wasn’t even close to enough.

Nursey isn’t fazed, though, and clambers over the console and into Dex’s lap before he can process what’s happening. It’s a very clumsy move, Nursey isn’t graceful in any sense of the word and knocks over slash crushes several of Dex’s possessions, but it’s all kind of worth it when his legs settle on either side of Dex’s hips and his arms loop around his neck.

“We can still go on a date,” Nursey says, smiling devilishly, “where will you take me?”

“Why do I have to take you anywhere?” Dex asks irritably, reaching up to peck Nursey’s nose, “you treat me, Richie Rich.”

“Okay,” Nursey says, beaming, “let’s go flower picking. Or carve pumpkins. Or climb a mountain and eat a picnic on the way up. Or—“

“Never mind,” Dex interrupts, “I’m picking.”

Nursey rolls his eyes and shifts around in Dex’s lap, slotting their bodies even closer together. When they manage to disentangle themselves from each other and Nursey goes back to his designated end of the car, he’s going to have to drape his windbreaker over his lap or something.

“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body,” Nursey informs him, his hand sliding up to thread in Dex’s hair.

“And yet…” Dex trails off, leaning forward to capture Nursey’s lips in a kiss. Nursey laughs into his mouth, a loud, snorting sound that fills Dex up with happiness, and he absently thinks that he should be worried about someone hearing or seeing or realizing they’re gone, but it all seems so unimportant compared to the way his thumbs fit perfectly into the dimples at Nursey’s spine.

\--

Tango is caught between being disappointed in the lack of a ghostly presence and being satisfied that his widely accepted, realistic conceptions of the world will live to see another day. It makes being indoctrinated by society a little more comforting.

Whiskey took it pretty hard until Tango offered to stand behind him in a white sheet and push him off, and then he started laughing and rumpling Tango’s hair. It causes a strange feeling in his stomach that he’s going to resolutely ignore until a later date.

“That was fun,” Whiskey says, bumping his shoulder against Tango’s.

“Not really,” Tango admits, “we drove three hours to sit on chairs and stare at each other in the dark for 10 minutes.”

“You didn’t have fun at all?”

Tango smiles, small and tentative, “I did. Though I don’t really know why.”

Whiskey smiles back, equally careful, “I’m sure you’ll puzzle it out eventually.”

Before Tango can respond that he probably will not, Chowder comes up between them, throwing one of his giant arms over Tango’s shoulders. He figures his phone finally died, and wonders if he’ll ever have someone he’d be happy texting and calling for three hours straight.

“Hey guys,” Chowder says, and Tango likes that he can hear the smile in his voice even if it’s too dark to see, “how were the ghosts?”

“Nonexistent,” Whiskey sighs.

“Bummer,” Chowder does not really sound bummed, and Tango wonders if this is one of those social things he’s not great at picking up on, “we’ll catch ‘em next time.”

All three of them finally cross into the parking lot where Dex and Nursey are still in the car. Tango stops in his tracks when he sees through the windshield that Nursey is… not in the passenger seat. He’s sitting in Dex’s lap and laughing against his temple, and Dex looks more relaxed and happy than Tango has ever seen him.

“Oh,” Tango says.

“I didn’t—“ Whiskey cuts himself off.

“And you still don’t,” Chowder reminds them in his stern captain voice, “they’ll tell us when they’re ready.”

“What should we do now, then?” Whiskey asks. He sounds a little dazed, and when Tango looks over at him there’s a wistful sort of look in his eye. Tango can relate.

Chowder doesn’t answer for a minute. He has a happy, quiet look on his face for someone who received concrete confirmation his best friends have been hiding things from him for god knows how long. Tango wonders if that’s what love does to people, makes them complacent. He looks at the silly way Whiskey gels his hair, and thinks maybe he wouldn’t mind being complacent.

“Give them a couple minutes,” Chowder says, steering the boys back towards the Mausoleum. “They’ve been waiting for this a long time.”


End file.
